


The Impossible Vocabulary of Sorrow

by morifantra (martainducreff)



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Angst, Coda, HIV/AIDS, Homophobia, Homophobic bashing, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Missing Scenes, lgsm, mentions of depression, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martainducreff/pseuds/morifantra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gethin looks at Jonathan for one last time. In the pale light of morning, his hair looks golden and his bright brown eyes stand out, the colour enhanced by the warm pink blanket thrown over his shoulders. Gethin looks away because if he keeps up for one more second, he’ll never leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impossible Vocabulary of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Reading between the lines of 'Pride' with the Jonathan/Gethin goggles on. The characters in this piece of work do not bear any resemblance to actual people, living or dead.

_\- Well, what about me and Jonathan? Or is it exclusively for the under-25s?_

_\- Oh no, of course not, everyone is welcome._

_\- Are you sure Jonathan’s interested?_

By the time Jonathan comes home, Gethin has managed to kick out the remaining couples snogging into the corners of their flat and cleaned the whole mess. He’s nearly falling asleep and every muscle in his body is screaming, but he finds it physically impossible to go to bed, pretending that he doesn’t care that Jonathan still isn’t home. So he waits, and he reads, and then he waits some more.

When Jonathan stumbles in, he seems to have abandoned both his musical repertoire and his heels. The smell of wine hits Gethin, who wraps an arm around his waist and silently helps him up the stairs. He’s too tired to think about how angry he is, how angry he is that this whole party was Jonathan’s idea to begin with, and it ended up with Gethin trying to convince forty odd people not to play the music too loud because of the neighbours and that Jonathan didn’t even show up.

Gethin sits Jonathan down on the sofa and goes to get a wet flannel and a change of clothes. For being the drunk mess that he obviously is, Jonathan is oddly quiet, leaning his head against the pressure as Gethin rubs the glitter and make up off his skin. Gethin doesn’t say anything either, the silence between them is heavy and uncomfortable.

When he’s finished with Jonathan’s face and he starts cleaning his neck, Gethin finally finds his voice.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, hoping to sound casual.

Jonathan gives a noncommittal hum. He’s silent and broody and Gethin feels his throat as tight as a pinhole.

“The party was nice,” he supplies again. “It’s a shame you missed it. People asked about you.”

“No, they didn’t.” Jonathan’s voice is raspy and he doesn't look at Gethin as he speaks.

"Yes, they did," Gethin insists, choosing to regard the one-off comment Mike made out of good manners as proof that he's not lying. The fact that Jonathan is sauntering around all of London, mostly dressed in drag, getting drunk off his face doesn't seem to be a secret to anyone. People treat Gethin as if he's the gay version of the lonely, depressed housewife with the deviant husband. He hates it.

Jonathan doesn't answer and Gethin decides not to try and initiate conversation. It's obviously a lost cause and the best thing they can do is go to bed as soon as they can. The listless, lost look in Jonathan's eyes scares him and he doesn't think he's strong enough to look at it for a minute longer.

He finishes cleaning Jonathan up and tosses the flannel away.

"Up you get."

Gethin unties the corset and slips the dress down Jonathan's body. It pools at his legs and he steps out. Gethin hands him his T-shirt and pyjama bottoms and says "I'll be in bed," as he goes to take his own clothes off, pretending that he doesn’t feel the burning sadness of Jonathan’s stare on his back.

At least when he's asleep, he can ignore the nauseating heavy feeling in his chest. They're acting like strangers in their own home and while Gethin keeps telling himself that he understands, he can't escape the feeling that he actually understands less and less every day. They used to talk before, he remembers. They’ve always had a way of communicating with no words, just soft, fleeting glances and quick touches and breathing patterns. Or, they would lie in bed, in the warmth and softness of each other’s embrace, and talk endlessly, talk all through the night, about everything. Gethin can’t remember the last time they did that.

And sex. He misses sex. Sex had always been a way to speak without actually using their voices.  _I love you. I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay._

Minutes after Gethin slides into bed, he feels the familiar weight of Jonathan join him. Gethin has his back to him, trying to pretend that he's asleep, but if he can feel the stiffness in his own shoulders, then Jonathan can see it, too. For a moment, he feels a fleeting touch on his forearm, a silent apology in the warm darkness of their bedroom. Gethin doesn't turn around as he closes his eyes, trying to chase the burning under his eyelids away. The touch disappears.

After a while, the room is filled with Jonathan's quiet snores and slow breathing. Gethin focuses on that until sleep takes him, too.

* * *

_\- Well if you don't like it you can go home!_

_\- As a matter of fact, I do like it._

Gethin emerges from the back room with two ashtrays in each hand as he deposits them on strategic locations. Not that he minds smoking in the bookshop, but he’s got better things to do tomorrow than clean cigarette ash out of the fitted carpets.

It was Mark’s idea to come back to the bookshop. The miner – Dai – doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks fairly wankered, which is no wonder since the majority of the gay men in London just bought him a pint each. If he hadn’t seen it happen, Gethin probably wouldn’t have believed it either.

He is most definitely not avoiding Dai. He's just busy. He goes to get everyone drinks and to mind the heating and to warn the neighbours there might be a bit of a racket. So what if he spends most of the evening sitting on his own in the corner, not saying a word? It's because he's tired and definitely not because Dai can recognise his accent and ask The Question that Gethin dreads hearing already. Not at all.

It's not long before Jonathan sidles up next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders casually. Gethin's heart skips a few beats. Jonathan has a glass of water in his hand as he looks on.

"So that's them, then. The kids. The bright future of the gay community." Oddly enough, Jonathan doesn't sound half as cynical as Gethin expected. If anything, he sounds thoughtful. Gethin leans into him and Jonathan strokes his arm absentmindedly.

No one seems to be noticing them - Mike and Mark are deep in conversation with Dai, Jeff is hanging around some pretty young thing that he must have picked up at the bar, and Steph seems to be talking to/arguing with two lesbians, one of which Gethin recognises as Jonathan's friend.

"It is," Gethin confirms. "Nothing like gay lib, is it?"

Jonathan laughs dryly. "They've got spirit, at least. God knows where that spirit will get them, but they've certainly got an excessive load of it." A beat of silence. "I like them."

"Really?" Gethin leans his head back to look at Jonathan's face. "Because just yesterday you had "better things to do"."

“People can surprise you,” Jonathan says and Gethin regards him for a bit, before looking back at Mark, Mike and Dai. Jonathan’s body is solid and warm next to his.

Gethin covers Jonathan’s hand with his, stroking his knuckles.

“It would do you good, they’re doing things every day, if nothing –“

“What, they’ll be my reason to get up in the morning?” Jonathan snorts. “Certainly not. That position’s already taken.”

When Gethin turns his head he sees Jonathan looking at him and his face is soft, relaxed and it makes Gethin’s heart clench. It’s the Jonathan he knows; not the drunk, desperate man from a few days ago. Gethin feels his cheeks heat up.

“Jonathan …”

“I behaved like a complete arsehole,” Jonathan says. “But you didn’t kick me out.”

“I’d never.”

“Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“There is  _quite a lot_ to forgive.”

“Jonathan –“

“Humour me,” Jonathan insists but he doesn’t look as if it’s just that. He’s more serious than Gethin has seen him in the last few months.

“Okay.  Okay, fine. It’s fine.”

“We’re fine?”

“We’re fine.”

Jonathan smiles and squeezes Gethin’s arm. “Good. That’s good enough incentive for me to drive them to Wales next week.”

Gethin nearly inhales his own drink. “What?”

“Didn’t you hear? Dai invited them all to visit. They’ll need transport won’t they?”

“But why you?”

“Most of them are barely legal, Geth, and the closest they’ve come to seeing a car is when one nearly ran over them a few weeks back. Besides, it’ll be easy to borrow the van from the theatre – I’m sure Jason wouldn’t mind, he owes me anyway, and –“

He stops because Gethin is looking at him and chuckling.

“What? What’s so funny?”

Gethin sobers up but his eyes are still twinkling. He can’t tell Jonathan that he’s happy to see him like this. Passionate, knowledgeable, caring – the real Jonathan, his Jonathan has come back and Gethin has to resist the temptation to grab his face and kiss him.

“Nothing,” he says, feeling giddy. “I’m just happy.”

Jonathan regards him with suspicion. “Should I be alarmed that you’re happy that I’ll be going to Wales for two days?”

“Obviously. I’m going to invite my younger, gorgeous lover over. We’re going to have so much sex and I’ll burn all your Smiths records, too.”

It’s Jonathan’s turn to laugh, a warm, pleasant sound, that just makes Gethin smile again.

* * *

_\- Make sure to take care of yourself, okay? And ring me. Ring me when you arrive._

It’s nearly 11 and the phone is dreadfully silent. Gethin’s been up for hours – he had to check that Jonathan has all his things packed and to make him sandwiches for the road. And then there was the window he spent at least five hours scrubbing. The little bastards used the red spray – the one that always comes off harder. By the end of it, every muscle in Gethin’s shoulders is screaming, however the letters are gone.

Gethin uses Jonathan’s absence to tidy up the rooms and clean the kitchen. In reality, he’s just looking for things to busy himself with. As happy as he is that Jonathan seems excited for the trip, he can’t help but feel something in his stomach twitch nervously as he thinks of the rattling van and the rocky Welsh roads.

As the evening approaches, Gethin grows more and more tired and while he said to himself that he should probably make dinner, he falls asleep on the sofa where he lay down just for five minutes.

He’s woken up by the phone ringing and he nearly trips over himself as he goes to pick it up.

“Are you okay?” he says, voice slurred slightly. “Did you arrive safely?” And then adds, nearly without thinking. “I miss you.”

Jonathan’s familiar laugh goes down the line and Gethin’s knees feel weak.

“I miss you too,” he says. “It’s Dai’s phone, so I can’t talk for too long. Everything’s fine, though.” There’s a certain level of wariness in his voice that Gethin picks up even from far away.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, you know how it is. Mining communities, working men. Not really keen of rampant homosexual elements wandering their streets.”

Gethin sighs, leaning againt the wall. The world is still spinning a bit since he got up so abruptly. “I know. Give them time. I’m sure things will perk up.”

“It’s what Mark keeps saying, too.” Jonathan says with a sigh. “Are you okay? Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Gethin lies. “I was –“ He hesitates a second too much.

“Yes, I did. Sorry, Geth.”

“It’s okay. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa anyway. I would have hated myself in the morning if I’d stayed there.”

Jonathan’s chuckle makes warmth gather in Gethin’s toes. Suddenly, he misses him so much, he nearly wants to cry. This is ridiculous, he tells himself, but somehow that doesn’t help.

“I can’t wait to see you,” he says gently, his voice wavering slightly.

“Oh, Gethin.” Jonathan sounds worried.

“No, it’s just – we’ve never really been apart, have we?”

“No, we haven’t,” Jonathan confirms. “First time for everything.”For a moment, Gethin’s heart feels heavy. Jonathan sounds quite nonchalant and he’s beginning to wonder whether he’s the clingy one in this relationship.

Gethin is nearly considering laughing it off as a joke but then Jonathan lowers his voice and says “You know I love you so much, don’t you?” and Gethin smiles because it feels private and wonderful. He doesn’t say it back. Not over the phone.

“I do.”

“Good. I’ll call you again tomorrow from the welfare hall, before we head off to wherever we’ll be sleeping.”

“Do that. And hey. Have fun, will you?”

“Always,” Jonathan says and Gethin can hear the grin down the line. It makes his heart feel a bit lighter when he hangs up.

That night, he ups the heating in the flat to a maximum, because his human furnace is all the way in Wales. It still takes him quite a while to go to sleep.

* * *

_\- She hasn’t said a word to me in sixteen years._

-  _And what about you, what words have you said to her?_

Mornings in winter Wales are crisp and chilly. For Gethin, every breath of air feels like a set of daggers in his chest. His throat is so tight that he feels as if he’s going to be sick any minute now. Instead, he swallows and keeps clearing the snow out of the van’s windshield. If he’s going to do this, he’d better make it there in one piece.

Jonathan woke him up an hour and a half ago, with coffee and French toast in bed.

Gethin wishes he never had to get away from Cliff’s guest room, the wooly blankets and the smell of pinewood in the air. He almost didn’t – Jonathan’s sleepy smile and his soft lips and warm hands were tempting him to stay.

He slams the door of the van shut already feeling his eyes burning. He asks himself, probably for the hundredth time today, what madness convinced him to do this in the first place.

“Hey,” the madness in question emerges from the house, wrapped up in a woolly pink blanket. “All set?”

Gethin turns around and looks at Jonathan. In the pale morning, his hair is ruffled, his eyes are extremely heavy with sleep still (he never was a natural early riser) and he looks as if he’ll be collapsing back into bed after this. He’s gorgeous, Gethin thinks, and his lower lip wobbles, as the feeling of want settles over him. He wants to hide his face in Jonathan’s chest and not emerge in the world ever again. Naturally, it doesn’t escape Jonathan, who sighs and walks up to him.

“Come here.”

Gethin does, as Jonathan pulls him in his embrace, kissing the side of his head. He’s warm and soft from sleep still and Gethin never wants to leave him. He clutches on to him, almost desperate, fingers digging into the blanket wrapped around his body.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he mumbles in Jonathan’s ear.

“Of course it is,” Jonathan retorts, pulling back and leaning in for a kiss. It’s brief and gentle and it tastes like coffee. “Go now. I’ll see you tonight.”

Gethin sighs and extracts himself from Jonathan’s warmth with tremendous effort. Jonathan opens the door for him with a sad smile and he climbs in. The van is unpleasantly cold, and eerily quiet, without a load of people chanting and singing in it.

Gethin looks at Jonathan for one last time. In the pale light of morning, his hair looks golden and his bright brown eyes stand out, the colour enhanced by the warm pink blanket thrown over his shoulders. Gethin looks away because if he keeps up for one more second, he’ll never leave.

“Good luck,” he hears as the door rattles shut. Gethin exhales, his breath coming out in a little cloud of fog, as he starts the engine.

* * *

_\- Hello, mum._

When Gethin finally wakes up, it’s dark outside and they’re still driving, although they seem to be in London now. The bus is oddly quiet.

“Evening, sunshine,” Jonathan says, not taking his eyes off the road. “Sleep well?”

Gethin rubs his eyes. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, I dropped them off.”

“ _All of them_?”

Jonathan shrugs as if the fact that he drove for two hours more than originally planned means nothing. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Gethin sighs and leans back in the passenger seat, his eyes still closed. Jonathan sounds disgustingly chipper for someone who’s been driving all day. It takes Gethin a while to chase the sleep away from his eyes as he realizes that he doesn’t actually know where they are.

“Why aren’t we driving home?”

“Well,” Jonathan starts and whenever a sentence starts like that Gethin knows trouble is coming. “Since we’ve got the bus anyhow, I thought we should take a little road trip.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve just had a good sleep and I only woke up half an hour before leaving Dulais. I’m definitely not sleepy, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Right.” Gethin looks around again. “And where are we going then?”

Jonathan smiles. “Well, that’s the thing. I can’t really tell you.”

“You can’t tell me.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Jonathan, you do realise I’ve lived in London for the past sixteen years.”

“So what?” Jonathan says defensively. “Bromley’s lived here for the past twenty and he can still hardly find his own way home. Besides, I was  _born_ here. I definitely know a thing or two you don’t, Highlands boy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So you’ve said. So just sit back and relax and let me do a good thing for you, once.”

Gethin opens his mouth to say that Jonathan has done so many good things for him, all the time, but he bites his tongue and just sits back as instructed. His hand goes to rest over Jonathan's on the gear stick, gently stroking his fingers.

They drive off to a vantage point at Primrose hill. It doesn’t’ take long for Gethin to realise that’s where they’re headed. It's their favourite spot to run off to on the off chance that they manage to get a car from somewhere. Jonathan kills the engine and they go out and walk to the top of the hill. They sit on the grass, the tips of their fingertips jus touching, and stare ahead. London's lights unfurl in front of them and play around like fireflies. It’s a chilly evening but definitely not as cold as Wales, even if Gethin can still see their breaths forming little clouds.

He’s expecting The Question, but it never comes. Instead, Jonathan moves to his belly and pillows his head on Gethin’s chest. The city lights are glimmering behind him and he’s got a wide smile on his face.

“What?” Gethin asks, feeling his own lips stretch into a grin.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Gethin feels his cheeks warm up and he lifts his head to try and kiss Jonathan. He only gets to his nose but it’s good enough.

“And I love you so much,” Jonathan continues as an afterthought. “I’m so proud of you.”

Gethin doesn’t have anything to say. This is so much more than words, seeing the soft darkness of Jonathan’s eyes and feeling his hand against his heart is so much more than anything else in the whole world. He covers Jonathan’s hand with his own and squeezes it as Jonathan props himself up and covers Gethin’s lips with his own.

* * *

_\- Oh don’t be daft, we want to see everything!_

_\- What, everything?_

_\- Even the rubber scene!_

Two rushing cabs in the darkness of the evening and they’re in Soho. The city is unfurling in front of them, it’s alive, just how Gethin loves it, he’s pleasantly drunk for it to not be in his face. The lights remind him of something warm, a pleasant heat like the one that coils into your belly when you smell homemade food. Gethin loves it.

He swoons a bit on Jonathan’s arm and he hears his boyfriend laugh.

“You okay there, soldier?”

Gethin just looks at him and smiles a wide, all-telling smile. At least he thinks he does. His face is certainly stretching the right muscles anyway.

The others are already making their way into the club, the Welsh ladies ushered in by an overly enthusiastic Mark. As Gethin shuffles in the queue, he feels a pull on his elbow and he’s too drunk to resist it.

Suddenly he finds himself in a dark backstreet, where the bins of the club are. Jonathan has him backed into a wall and is crowding his space, his arms on either side of Gethin’s head. He looks as if he’s had a few himself but he’s not pissed off his min. Gethin laughs.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Jonathan doesn’t reply, instead he just leans his head in to kiss just behind Gethin’s ear, then his jaw, until he covers Gethin’s mouth with his own.

Gethin can’t help but moan softly into the kiss. It feels like it’s been ages since they’ve had any time to themselves with everything going on, so Gethin feels hungry for Jonathan’s touch, wants the warmth of his solid body and the beautiful expanse of his skin.

“I can’t help myself,” Jonathan finally says, his mouth going to trace along Gethin’s jaw and down the long line of his throat as Gethin throws his head back. “You look so gorgeous tonight I had to constantly constrain myself not to ravage you in front of everyone.” Gethin’s body trembles with excitement. Jonathan’s voice is low and dangerous and wonderful.

He tries to say something but it comes out as a whisper of Jonathan’s name, who seems to understand and keeps trailing his kisses down until he has two buttons on Gethin’s shirt undone. He pulls back a bit, examining Gethin’s face as if it was his handiwork and Gethin can’t help but laugh at the concentrated look in his eyes.

“Better,” he declares, leaning in to kiss him again gripping on Gethin’s hair and just snogging him very slowly and thoroughly.

Gethin lets his entire body be guided by Jonathan, lets himself meld against the solid frame of Jonathan’s shoulders and chest. He’s drunk – more on the city’s movements and Jonathan’s gentle, thrumming pulse under his fingertips rather than the alcohol. The dim streetlight is making Jonathan’s hair look like a golden halo around his head and his eyes are a devastating hazelnut colour. Gethin has to resist the temptation to drop on his knees in front of him right this second.

But a certain part of his brain knows he can’t. _They_ can’t. So he doesn’t even try it.

Instead, he grabs on the lapels of Jonathan’s shirt and pulls him in for another kiss and says: “Let’s go. The others are probably wondering where we are.”

His boyfriend smiles, wide and sincere, and links their fingers together, leading them into the club.

If the others notice his debauched look and the lovebite blooming on his neck, they say nothing and after that the music is way too loud to say anything at all.

* * *

_\- Six straight people asked me if they could join last night._

_\- We should set up another group. Straights supporting gays supporting miners._

The van rattles off into the distance and disappears around the corner. It’s too much of a familiar sight, him standing in front of the shop and watching it leave. Only now, there’s a strange feeling of warm happiness in his gut, one that hasn’t left him since last night.

Jonathan squeezes Gethin’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go in.”

They go upstairs with Jonathan’s fingers trailing along Gethin’s arm. He’s been very affectionate all morning and Gethin can’t be more grateful for it. He realises that they’re alone in their flat for the first time in months.

Jonathan’s thoughts seem to be on the same tangent as his fingers wrap around Gethin’s arm and he turns him around when they’re at the doorway of the living room. He pulls Gethin close, arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist and kisses him gently, his lips lingering as if they have all the time in the world. Gethin closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the wonderful, exciting weight of Jonathan’s hands around his waist.

When they break the kiss, Jonathan smiles and then looks over Gethin’s shoulder and bursts into chuckles. Gethin gives him a questioning look and turns around, smiling himself. Jeff is sprawled out on their sofa – still dressed in his clothes from last night, hair a mess, mouth slightly ajar, as he sleeps. Gethin doesn’t have the heart to wake him and goes over to throw a blanket over him. Jeff mumbles and turns to sleep on his face, as Jonathan gets Gethin’s arm again and tugs him into their bedroom, locking the door.

The smile on his face is one Gethin knows all too well.

“Jonathan, the others will be –“

Jonathan silences him with a kiss and his hands untie Gethin’s robe, sliding it off his shoulders and letting it pool around his socked feet. His lips move south and Gethin gasps quietly, as Jonathan lifts him on their bed and slowly kisses down his chest.

Neither of them hears the phone ringing downstairs.

* * *

  _\- Excuse me? Excuse me? I just want to talk to you._

_Who kicks someone in the face?_ Gethin wonders idly as he curls into his body to find some way to protect himself from the blows. They come, again and again, and Gethin doesn't know whether the pavement beneath him is wet because of the rain or with his own blood. He's not sure that he can make colours out anymore. For a moment, he stupidly thinks that he'll forget the colour of Jonathan's eyes.

The man says nothing. He just kicks him, again and again, in his stomach, in his crotch, wherever he can find. Gethin is trembling and crying and bile is rising up his throat. He can't breathe. 

The kicking stops for a minute and he thinks  _run, run, get away, go, run, hide_ , but he can't move. A strong kick in the kidneys has left him almost paralysed with pain. If this is death, Gethin thinks, this is not how it was meant to be. Not at all.

For a moment, he thinks its over but then he hears another voice, someone roughly pulls him to his feet and holds him up, stopping him from curling into himself. A few punches land in his gut and Gethin doesn't even have the strength to open his eyes, to see what his new attackers look like. He saw the first one - saw him coming at him, a flirtatious, sleazy smile that Gethin immediately recognised and turned away. The man kept pestering. Gethin snatched his arm away. The first punch landed.

Now someone else passing by has joined in and he could smell the alcohol from the person holding his hands behind his back, could hear laughing and shouting as his body just flops like a rag doll with every other punch. Someone is talking to him but he can't make anything out, he doesn't want to hear what they've got to say. He closes his eyes and thinks of  _Jonathan Jonathan Jonathan Jonathan_.

Jonathan's face when he wakes up. Jonathan's nose scrunching up as Gethin kisses the tip of it. Jonathan's mouth, wide and beautiful, tasting like morning tea. The angles and nooks and crannies of Jonathan's body.

Gethin opens his eyes purely by strength of will. He eyes one of the men in front of him and smiles through the blood in his mouth, then spits in the man's face. 

A knee in his kidneys comes from behind as the man roars in anger, says something that ends in "dirty animal" and there's the sliver of a knife and pain blooms in Gethin's stomach.  _This is it. This is the end. I'm going to die. They've stabbed me and I'm going to die._

"Oi!" Gethin's body falls to the ground and he clutches the spot where the pain is pulsing, warm and wet, his pulse wild and loud in his ears. 

There's the sound of running boots but he can't see anything he can't feel anything as he gasps for air. He's not going to let them kill him easily. That's not how it works.

There's noises and then a hand moves his own away from the pulsing pain and tightens the spot with something. Gethin shouts and groans but it's weak and just the effort of producing sound makes him ache physically.

He prays for unconsciousness rather than another torturer, but then body is gently cradled in someone's arms and he's sure he's hallucinating when he hears Jonathan's voice.

"Stay with me, baby, the ambulance is coming, it's on its way." His voice is shaking but his arms around Gethin are firm. He feels like a fortress. "You'll be okay, darling, stay with me, okay? Stay with me."

This can't be Jonathan. Jonathan can't be here, could he? 

Illusion or not, Gethin will take it. It might be the last chance he'll ever get.

"I love you," he says, and his voice is muffled by something in his windpipe. He feels like he wants to sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep. "I love you. I love you. I love you." 

It's frantic and it's desperate but Gethin doesn't know if he'll ever get to say it again.

Lips press to his forehead at every 'I love you' and with these words on his lips Gethin succumbs into darkness.

* * *

_\- Hello. This is my mum._

Jonathan doesn't come back in the room. Gethin understands. The small, frail figure of his mother is still frightening to his boyfriend, and, in parts, to Gethin.

She puts the pot in her hands on the small table next to his bed.

"I've brought you some stew," his mother says. "Potato stew. I know how much you love it."

He does. He loved it back when he was sixteen and she remembers. Of course she does, Gethin thinks. When you have an only child, you remember everything there is to remember about them.

His mother's eyes flicked over the angry bruises on his face and he could see her eyes shimmering with sadness. Gethin's side, the one with the stab wound, was still tender, but he leaned over putting his hand on hers. 

"You should have seen the other guy," he supplied with a small smile but she doesn't return it.

"Have they found who did this?" she said and Gethin sighed. Intrinsically, his mother hadn't changed at all. If someone did something bad, they got punished, and that was how the world worked. Not in London, though.

He told her what he'd told everyone else who'd asked this question: "I told the police everything I knew. It was dark and I only saw the face of one of them."

His mother's hand stroked his knuckles and Gethin was thankful to all the deities in this world (but mostly to Jonathan) that she hadn't found out about this when he was still dangling between life and death.

"I don't think there's much we can do," he said gently. "Jonathan couldn't get a good look either, and --"

"Jonathan," she interrupts. She knows who he is; he was the one who called her and told her back when Gethin was still breathing through a tube. He knew that much.

"He called you to tell you what happened," he reminded her. "He's my --" Boyfriend? Lover? How do you explain the intensity of the feelings for the love of your life to your mother, out of all people? "We're together."

A shadow passes over Mrs. Roberts' face. Gethin swallows. Even if things are easier now, better between them, they're still working at it. They still need to be wary of each other. 

She breathes in and Gethin waits for the question, patiently.

"Is he taking care of you?" 

It's not what he expected, but at least it's one he's got an easy answer to. 

"If it wasn't for him I would have died." He vaguely remembers Jonathan pressing on the stab wound, Jonathan kissing his head, Jonathan telling him to stay awake. It feels like it didn't happen to him. "He's wonderful, Ma. He's the love of my life."

It feels like a confession to a High Priest. For a moment his mother looks confused but then her small face breaks into a nervous smile. 

"I think I'd like to meet him, then."

* * *

_He recently celebrated his 65th birthday._

Jonathan's hand doesn't leave his shoulder as they march together, two steps away from the boisterous, loud group of their friends. Gethin's feet are moving almost by force of habit, he's still overwhelmed and it all feels a bit like a dream only that it's not. 

His hand drops down from Jonathan's shoulder and his boyfriend laces their fingers together. They march.

"Quite different from last year, isn't it?"

Gethin squeezes his fingers. "Yes. Yes it is."

"Gethin --" Jonathan looks at him and hoists his sunglasses on his head. Gethin laughs.

"You look ridiculous."

"I love you," Jonathan replies and Gethin's heart swells a few sizes. Before he gets the chance to open his mouth, Jonathan keeps talking. "This last year has been --" It's as if he can't find the words. Gethin smiles. 

"I know. It has, indeed."

"I'll love you for as long as I can, Gethin. I'll never leave your side."

Jonathan's voice is quiet and private but it's still loud enough for Gethin to hear. He drops his head to place a kiss against Jonathan's shoulder. There's a time and place for these conversations, and now, when happiness is brimming all around them, electric in the air of love and solidarity, Gethin can't help but think  _no time like the present._

"I love you too."

Jonathan's returning smile is the sun, the stars, the moon, and everything that's worth living for.

They march, heads held high, fingers intertwined for what Gethin is certain will be an eternity. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated.


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